


Summer Splash

by devilinthedetails



Series: Changes and Splashes [1]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Catching frogs, Family, Friendship, Gen, Splashes, changes, fun in the sun, summer fun, waterfight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25293052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Jon, Gary, and the childhood creek in which they splash during summer.
Series: Changes and Splashes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832326
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Summer Splash

Summer Splash

It was late on a long summer’s afternoon in mid-July, and the sun had not yet begun its slow setting. White, cottony clouds hung in the forget-me-not blue sky as the blazing sun burned into Jon’s skin, turning it pork-pink and then raw-red. Sweat caked the back of his neck and the curves behind his ears, attracting a haze of mosquitoes to these tender bits of flesh faster than he could swat them away. 

With his cousin Gary beside him, he was hiking alongside a stony creek that ultimately fed into Lake Naxen. That summer, he and his mother were visiting the castle where she had been born and spent her her childhood, and now he and Gary were hunting for frogs to catch. 

He spotted what looked like ink splatters floating in the water. Bending over the brook so his face was mirrored in the shifting glass of its surface, he squinted to inspect the black blotches more closely, calling to his cousin, “What are these strange creatures?” 

Gary’s mud-brown gaze followed Jon’s pointing finger before he answered in a matter-of-fact manner, “Oh, those are just tadpoles. They’ll grow up to be frogs. There’s nothing too exciting about them. They’re quite boring really.” 

Irritated by his cousin’s dismissive attitude, Jon couldn’t resist retorting, “They don’t look anything like frogs. I think you’re just making that up.” 

“I don’t need to make it up because I read.” Gary rolled his eyes as Jon lost his interest in the ink splotches in the water, and they continued along the winding brook bed. “I read about the life cycle of frogs in a book by the Old Ones. Frogs hatch from eggs to become the tadpoles you saw. Then the tadpoles sprout legs and become little froglets before finally transforming into proper frogs.” 

“You read about it in a book by the Old Ones, but what did the Old Ones know?” Jon gave his cousin’s broadening shoulder a teasing nudge. 

“Lots of things we don’t.” Gary’s face was alight as it often was when he had the chance to share the bright flame of his knowledge—a storehouse of random facts he had hoarded in a lifetime of voracious reading—to a hapless, unwitting audience. “They knew how to build great baths and straight road, even through mountains, that last longer than any we can create today. They knew how to build grand villas with heating pipes that ran through the walls like veins in a human body, and they could create giant aqueducts that carried water from lakes leagues away to their cities. They even created the language we use today. So much knowledge and civilization was lost when their empire fell.” 

Jon wasn’t enthralled by the innovations of a civilization that had collapsed under its own weight (as far as he could tell from the confusing history lessons of his Mithran tutors) centuries ago, surviving only in dusty roads and ruins. He was far more fascinated by the speckled green frog he glimpsed resting on the grassy brook bank. 

Determined to seize the opportunity to snatch up a frog, Jon leapt toward it, palms cupped to catch it. The frog let out an indignant croak as it hopped into the creek. Not about to allow his quarry escape him so easily, Jon jumped into the brook after it. The water was higher than he’d anticipated, rising to his knees, and he could imagine the lecture he’d receive from his mother for returning to Naxen castle with soggy breeches. 

Alerted by the splash he made as he entered the creek, the frog swam swiftly away, taking refuge in some hidden place Jon couldn’t see. 

Frustrated by this thwarting of his will by a mere frog, Jon smacked at the water, scaring away a school of small silver minnows that had been circling around him. 

“I’m covered in water.” Gary yelped as a wave struck him, dampening his shirt and breeches. “Do you mind warning me the next time you’re going to splash like a whale?” 

Jon responded to this in the way he deemed most appropriate to the situation: propelling an even larger stream of water in Gary’s direction. After that soaking, it was only natural that Gary would seek vengeance. Soon the two cousins were both in the creek embroiled in a fierce waterfight. 

Their splashes and laughter echoed along the water. Finally, they tired of this fun. By silent consensus, they left the brook and sprawled on its bank, waiting for the golden rays of sunlight to dry their drenched shirts and breeches. 

They were young, and they had time to wait in the sun, but it occurred to Jon with a sudden sadness as it often had—sneaking up on him unexpectedly—that this was their last summer together before Gary was enrolled in page training. 

Grabbing a stem of grass to chew as he contemplated this passage of time, he remarked, “This’ll be your last summer of freedom before you become a page, won’t it?” 

“Why worry about that now?” Gary’s fingers rippled through the water, and Jon thought he could glimpse time trickling ungrasped between his cousin’s fingers. “Do you think the tadpole worries about becoming a froglet?” 

“You’re smarter than a tadpole.” Jon snorted at the absurdity of his cousin’s comment. 

“Smart enough not to waste time worrying about what I can’t change.” Gary’s fingers continued to flick through the water. 

“Like change itself?” Jon’s lips quirked. 

“Exactly.” Gary gave a satisfied nod. “I’m surprised your rock head understood so quickly.” 

“I’d like to hurl a rock at your head.” Jon stuck out his tongue, and the two of them lapsed into companionable quiet as the brook babbled on before them.


End file.
